


Game Night, Part 3

by MonkeyBard



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 10:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19743397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonkeyBard/pseuds/MonkeyBard
Summary: Yet another evening at Lestrade’s. Or maybe they’re all the same one. Who knows?





	Game Night, Part 3

**Author's Note:**

> Date: 9 July 2019  
> JWP #9: On Your Left: The object closest to you on your left is now your prompt. Include it or use it as inspiration for today's entry.

“How have you not played that game?” asked Greg, marvelling at Oscar and Molly. “Hang on. I’ll get one from inside and show you how it’s done.” He rose and dashed unsteadily into the house.  
  
“How drunk is he?” mused John. Sherlock started to reply, being more than tipsy himself, but John held up a hand to stop him. “Rhetorical.”  
  
“Drunk enough to be really bad at the game we’re about to play,” replied Sophie, chuckling wickedly. She tucked lock of dark hair behind her ear. “This’ll be fun.”  
  
Greg returned with not one pub-style paper coaster, but five, and tossed them onto the table. “It’s all I could find.”  
  
“Where did you get these?” Sophie picked one up and eyeballed it doubtfully.  
  
“No idea. Okay.” Greg sat and placed one coaster half on, half off the edge of the table. He again pinned Oscar and Molly with his blurred gaze. “Okay, youthful friends.” He shot a quick look at John. “You know this one, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” John admitted. He’d battered the backs of his fingers on many a pub table playing it in his youth.  
  
“Good.” Greg handed him a coaster. “Here’s yours.” He turned back to the others. “The object of the game is to flip the coaster into the air and catch it.”  
  
“That’s it?” asked Molly.  
  
“It’s harder than it sounds.”  
  
“Especially as you get more and more pissed,” put in Sophie, taking a drink of her beer.  
  
Greg focused hard on the precariously balanced coaster, holding his hand, fingers extended, a short distance away and below its level. Quick as a shot, he flicked his fingers and flipped it into the air. It tumbled unsteadily over itself and he snapped his fingers and thumb together—missing it entirely. “Test run,” he muttered and reset the coaster.  
  
John found it weirdly mesmerising watching attempt after attempt. He’d forgotten how invested one could get in a player’s success. They all cheered when, six tries later, Greg finally caught it.  
  
Greg grinned in drunken satisfaction. “Come on, John. You’ve got one. Why aren’t you playing?”  
  
“Didn’t want to steal your thunder, mate.” John set his coaster, steadied himself, flipped, and caught it on the first go.  
  
The others laughed and applauded.  
  
Sophie took a coaster of her own. “You’re either just sober enough or just drunk enough.”  
  
“It’s a fine line,” agreed John.  
  
It took Sophie three tries before she caught her flipped coaster. Soon they were all taking turns. Then they started stacking the coasters, seeing how many they could catch and who could catch the most. Even Sherlock got in on the goofiness, naturally starting with all five to prove a point that none of the others bothered to listen to when he explained about launch speed, weight ratios, and trajectory.  
  
He stacked all five, teetering just at the edge of falling, narrowed his drunken focus on the tiny tower, stretched out long fingers, gauging angles and force needed.  
  
“Just fucking flip them already,” complained Greg.  
  
Sherlock held up his other hand, a wordless call for silence. Greg rolled his eyes and said nothing more.  
  
A hush fell and all eyes were on Sherlock. Without warning, his fingers shot out and he flipped the stack. He grabbed at it only to knock it apart and send all five coasters tumbling in different directions. Sherlock frowned in puzzlement rather than anger, staring at the scattered cardboard squares as if they’d offered a personal insult.  
  
John shook, sputtering with giggles, but Greg’s laugh was the loudest.  
  
Sophie and John grinned at one another across the table.  
  
“Too sober or too drunk?” she asked.  
  
“Let’s find out,” he replied mischievously. “I’ll get him another beer.”


End file.
